All the cowardice in him was
in the ascendant. But that passed; watching his worn face, she saw it
passing. Fear clutched at her; for the first time in her life she
desired to go to him, hold fast to him, seeking in contact the
reassurance of his strength; but she only stood straighter, a little
paler, already half divining in the clairvoyance of her young soul what
lay still hidden.
"Do you ask a part in this?" he said at last.
"I ask it."
"Why?"
Her eyes wavered, then returned his gaze:
"For love of you," she said, as white as death.
He caught his breath sharply and straightened out, passing one hand
across his eyes. When she saw his face again in the dim light it was
ghastly.
"There was a woman," he said, "for whom I was once responsible." He
spoke wearily, head bent, resting the weight of one arm on the table
against which she leaned. "Do you understand?" he asked.
"Yes. You mean--Mrs. Ruthven."
"I mean--her. Afterward--when matters had altered--I came--home.
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